


No Other Way

by ec_writes



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pregnancy, Trespasser DLC, death mention, nsfw-ish, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ec_writes/pseuds/ec_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no other way for her to say, “I’m terrified of losing you” than digging her nails into the skin of his back, clinging to him as though he is her lifeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Other Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceranna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceranna/gifts).



> Trev belongs to Ceranna. This OC otp is most likely going to be the death of us both.

:::

“I will _not_ be left behind!”

Niklaus is quiet as she shouts. His eyes are downcast as Trev stares daggers into the Inquisitor, yet she does not waver. The glow of the anchor is violent in her palm, and for a moment, Trev believes she sees its light bleeding into her eyes.

“You can’t _possibly_ think leaving me will benefit you,” she seethes. “I know you’re not that bloody stupid.”

“I will not let you fight,” Elisabet says. “Not now. You will stay here, act as guard, in case—”

“In case of _what?_ ” Trev spits. “The Qunari break through? You _fail?_

She tries not to think of Niklaus dead, his body mangled in a foreign world that she can not touch. “This is no time for you bleeding-heart idiocy! You wonder why the Inquisition is falling apart? Look at how you’re leading it!”

Niklaus moves from his quiet corner in the room; a giant looming in a somber state, looking half the size of the warrior Trev had come to know and call her own. “My lady, please…”

He reaches for her, but Trev retaliates. “Don’t you _dare!_ ”

Her nails rip at the fabric of his shirt as she pushes him away, and he retreats without a hint of a fight. He hangs his head in a way that is as pathetic as it is painful. She knows he is hating himself in this moment, blaming himself for what is happening, and it makes her even more enraged. She wants to scream at him to not be so frail, to be strong and not blame himself for things that are out of his control. She wants to make him realize that he does not need to take blame so willingly, that her bearing his child is not his fault alone.  

“Insulting my competence to command will not change the fact that you are not following us into battle,” Elisabet snaps; her expression hardened in a way that is foreign to her features, it does not suit her to look so forlorn. “You are _with_ _child_ , Trev. Don’t be a fool.”

She moves towards her, standing toe-to-toe with the Mage, and Trev snarls at her leader, unafraid to let her rage overthrow the elegance she strives so hard to maintain. The primal part of her wishes she could take that dismal look and scratch it off her face, ripping away at the false Herald and remind her just how powerful she could be. Yet, another part of her, one that she dare not let surface, wishes to search underneath the facade of the woman's title and ‘purpose’, and unearth the girl with whom she could reason. A part of Trev hates herself for telling her; had she kept the news to herself, there would be not doubt that Elisabet would have her at her side in battle. But no, she chose to confide in her, let her be close. It was foolish, _stupid_.

A crackling sounds emits from the Inquisitor’s hand. The light of her mark pulsates, and, for a split second, Elisabet’s eye glow a haunting shade of green.

“Sister,” Niklaus finally speaks, moving to catch her as her footing grows unsteady, but she shakes her head.

With a deep breath, Elisabet straightens her posture, and lifts the silken cowl of her armor over her head. “You will do me no good in battle in your condition. I order you to stay and help prepare for a possible Qunari Invasion.”

She takes a step closer. The cowl hides her mouth from her brother’s sight as she lowers her voice to a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” she says; there is a deep ache in her tone, making Trev wonder how much she is trying to hold back as she speaks. “I can’t have you both there. If you fight, he will die.”

With that, Elisabet leaves the room; not turning to see the wideness of Trev’s eyes, or how the pout of her lips turns strained and thin. She takes a step forward, her head held high despite feeling as though she is going to crumble. She reaches for the wall in front of her, watching her hands as they dare to tremble in their venture to touch cool stone. There is something in her that is pulling, pulling and pulling at the deepest parts of her heart, and she feels as though it is going to break her very foundation.

_“If you fight, he will die.”_

She sees the vision of Niklaus once more, of his figure mangled against the debris of a fallen empire. His eyes are wide, but the green of his irises stare coldly out at nothing. His chest does not rise, and his fingers do not twitch. There is no one to tend to his wounds, no one to take his massive body and bring it back home to her. He lies alone forever in a world that she will never see, a martyr in the name of a false chosen hero.  

Trev sputters, and her stomach lurches as she comes to terms with what is next. She must let her lover go to battle, and she must stay behind; not for her safety, but for his. She has to trust that he will make it through this mission without her. That he will remain _safe_ without her. Trev cannot stop herself from choking as she attempts to inhale. Her lungs are heavy and tight in her chest, pushing and pushing against her heart that now feels as though it’s made of glass.

Niklaus is at her side faster than she can blink. Calloused hands gently take hold of her, cradling her shoulders with enough force to keep her standing, but with enough tenderness that it leaves her aching for him to touch every inch of her skin.

“Maker’s breath, are you alright?” he says.

She hears him call her name, but a desperate need to _feel_ him drowns out anything else. Her shaking hands rise to meet his own. They are warm and hard under her touch, and a craving for that heat to envelope stirs. He leans closer, his breath caresses the skin of her ears, and she is melting in his grasp.

“My lady,” he whispers.

There is something hanging at the end of his words, something that crawls through Trev’s blood and blooms within her chest. She turns in his arms, her eyes still wide, her lips still tight, and she stares at him unabashedly. He stares back, his expression is laced with worry, but his eyes mirror her intensity in a way that calms the rage in her soul.

She takes his face in her palms and kisses him. Her lips are rough against his mouth, rough and hungry for more than words and tears could ever explain. He reciprocates with the same tenacity and viciousness; she half expects to taste blood as he takes her bottom lip between his teeth.

There is no other way for her to say, “I need you” than with a moan in his ear. There is no other way for her to say, “I’m terrified of losing you” than digging her nails into the skin of his back, clinging to him as though he is her lifeline.

He whispers her name like a promise, and she gasps as it grows louder in her ear, more honest with every heated touch. It is the only way he can tell her that he needs her just as fervently. He pins her against the cold stone wall and claims her neck with his mouth. It is the only way he can tell her how terrified he is of the possibility that he may never hold her again.

Their ire enraptures them in a dance that is as much a promise to never let go, as it is a good-bye. Every gasp is a confession, each touch a documented memory of what it was to know their warmth. Trev nearly screams, her heart so heavy from departing, so light from reaching her heaven, that she cannot hold on to resolve.

Niklaus moans into her neck, his legs weak and crumbling from underneath them. He kneels down slowly, his arms still wrapped around her, still holding her until there is no time left. She can feel something dripping against her shoulder, and her throat goes dry.

She cradles his head and kisses his temple softly. It is the only way she can say, “I will wait for you” without falling apart.  

::

Trev watches with heavy eyes as the Inquisitor and her companions make their way toward the Eluvian, each one looking like a ghost of the person she met only a few years ago. It is haunting how dim their eyes have all become, and she wonders if they’ve all but condemned themselves to meet their fate beyond the Mirror.

It is then that her gaze meets with Niklaus. His head his bowed, but his stare is not bleak. There is a fire within the green hue of his irises, and it ignites something within her chest.

“Niklaus!”

All eyes focus on them as he turns to her. For a moment, she considers running to him, feeling the skin of his lips again just one final time. The idea of it sends a flutter down her spine, but she shakes it away.

“Yes, my lady?” he replies, his stare is wide and wanting, almost desperate for her to speak again.

There is no turning back from this, she tells herself. There is no other way to tell him what is weighing on her heart. No other time.

She lifts her chin high, like a queen as she beckons her court, and Niklaus smiles.

“I know,” he begins, and continues toward the portal. “ _‘If you die, I’m going to kill you.’_ You need not warn me—”

Her eyes soften as she takes a breath, and his words are lost as her lips part.

“I love you.”

He is not prepared to see her confidence waver with her declaration. He gapes as she keeps her head held high, though her hands are ringing the silk of her skirt. He licks his lips and bows to her, grinning once at her before placing his helmet over his head.

“And I, you, my lady.”

With that, he turns and leaves. Her breathing shakes as his back disappears through the Mirror’s glass, but she does not waver. She will not let this moment sour from heartbreak or weakened spirit. She will wait for him, and will remain standing tall as she does.

It is the only way she knows how to cope with being left behind.

:::


End file.
